


live fast die young bad boys do it well

by cadavs



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drunk Driving, Hance - Freeform, M/M, Polydins, SHEITH - Freeform, Street Racing AU, almost relationship, and v affectionate, cop!shiro, hanceome, keith and shiro are pining over each other, pidge is non binary, stay tuned there'll be more, street racer!keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadavs/pseuds/cadavs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith street races to feel a rush. Pidge has long since accepted this - but wishes Keith would be a little more careful about it. Shiro wishes Keith would stop getting into trouble and just pay his damn parking tickets. But wait, there went the transmission...</p><p>Street racing AU starring Team Voltron</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. shut up and drive

“Keith, you’re going too fast!” Pidge’s voice crackles from over the Bluetooth in his ear. It’s an old, outdated one that Keith had stolen from one of his previous foster parents but Pidge had assured him time and again that it’s safe and secure from any scanners. Keith takes his foot off the gas and punches the clutch with his left, shifting into fourth. He can feel the very faint slip of the gears, but it’s enough to irk him.

“I’ll be fine. The gears are slipping at fourth still,” Keith says without pause, downshifting to match the speed limit he’s broken a thousand times. His eyes scan the dark horizon for the familiar glint of light that reflects off the black and white Crown Vics out on patrol. And knowing the MPD, they’ll have someone staking out this back road especially for people like him. The _adrenaline junkies_ , the sergeant calls them. Keith likes to describe _himself_ as being easily bored, however. And speaking of cops…

“Officer Shirogane is out again tonight.” Keith’s glance is fleeting but he _knows_ it’s him by the cruiser number. And isn’t that sad, he thinks, that he’s memorized that number.

“Lucky him. _Un_ luckily for you, you need to get back here so I can run the diagnostics. We may have to pull the engine apart again…” Keith doesn’t miss Pidge’s stressing. But… Keith’s had a bad week. He wants to drive around until the early morning hours and just clear his head, maybe roll the windows down and let the wind whip his hair a bit. Slight gear slipping be damned – as long as he doesn’t have to race, he’ll be fine.

“I’ll be there, Pidge. Just… Give me a few hours, okay?” Pidge’s response is to sigh and hum, and then the line is quiet. Keith tosses the Bluetooth into the cup holder and relaxes into his bucket seat.

The impact to the back left of his car catches Keith completely off guard, making his car fishtail across the road before he’s able to get it under control, tires squealing loudly on the asphalt and his car rocks with the sudden stop. His teeth are clenched so tightly its giving him a headache but he’s reacting before he can connect those dots. He pulls off his safety harness and steps from his car, surveying the damage before he’s turning to inspect who the hell hit him. And Keith’s blood _boils_ when three drunk college kids spill from the other car, one of them vomiting in the road and the other two looking at their car and arguing with each other.

“You fucking _idiots_!” Keith nearly barks at them. “What kind of morons go driving down a deserted back road, drunk, and _without their lights_?!”

“Hey, man, it was an accident!” The driver snaps, turning on Keith with no explanations for what happened and why. He’s obviously the least drunk of the three, sounding almost completely coherent but there's still a slur to his words.

“Bullshit!” Angry as he is, Keith gets into a fist fight with the driver. And it figures that’s the exact moment that Officer Shirogane and his partner – a new cadet, Keith notices later – decide to arrive on scene. It’s a new record, Keith thinks, how fast Shiro is able to cuff him.

“Is this necessary?” Keith asks over his shoulder.

Shiro, only loud enough for Keith to hear, says, “You’re angry, violent, and have a switchblade in your back pocket.”

Keith faces forward again and twitches his nose. “Good point.” He takes a seat on the edge of the back bench of the police cruiser and watches the new cadet make the drunk kids do line walks. Shiro rests an arm on the open door and watches Keith. Keith makes a point of looking anywhere else but at the officer in front of him.

“What were you doing out here, Keith?”

“Clearing my head. Nothing illegal – I was even going exactly the speed limit. But you know that.”

“I do.”

“I didn’t do anything. They hit me,” Keith says in a monotonous tone. He rubs his cheek with his shoulder to relieve an itch. “ _And_ , they're all drunk. While _driving_.” Shiro doesn't miss the venomous undertone of Keith's accusation. He knows it's one of the quickest things that'll set Keith off – driving around drunk or just being stupid while driving. Shiro still remembers that his first encounter with Keith was pulling him off some other guy who he'd gotten into a physical fight with over being on his phone. In Keith's defense, though, the guy nearly took out two other cars besides his own.

“And they'll be arrested for DUI. Really, Keith, you didn't have to punch the driver. Multiple times.”

“Okay.” Keith stares at Shiro like he's expecting him to say something new. The adrenaline is draining from Keith's system now, and all he feels is tired. He can't deal with Shiro's disappointed look right now. So he looks back at the drunk circus across the way.

It doesn't take very long for another squad car to pull up and then they're hauling the drunk driver and his passengers into the back seat of that one. Shiro sends his partner with the other officer, because having two people to control rowdy, drunk college kids is better than one. The other car is already out of sight and Keith is standing on his feet again, but Shiro is just watching him with a stern gaze. Keith wilts a little under it.

“You need to learn how to control your temper,” Shiro decides to say, and Keith sighs. He knows. They both know. His temper will one day be his downfall and Keith is very aware of that. “Maybe you can find someone to help you manage it a bit better.”

“Like you?” Keith says before he knows what he's actually saying. It makes both of them blush and Shiro clears his throat, obviously flustered. Keith can relate. Instead of saying anything, Shiro reaches into a pouch on his belt and produces the keys to Keith's handcuffs. Keith turns around to let him unlock them.

“You know I can't.” The handcuffs are back in Shiro's belt and Keith's heart is skipping beats when Shiro says it so close to him.

“I've never asked for sex, Shiro.”

“We’re already walking a dangerous line.” And Shiro's words ring true in Keith's ears. He's already closer than what Keith is usually comfortable with anyone being and Shiro would probably lose his job if the precinct found out about the make-outs they've had here and there (in the backseat of the cruiser), the more than few fleeting kisses, and the tickets and misdemeanors Shiro has let slide for Keith. His history is bad for Shiro, but Keith has a hard time keeping himself on the right side of the line. He turns again to face Shiro.

“Go home, Keith. Eat something and go to sleep.”

“And you?”

“I'll wait for a tow truck to haul the car to impound and go back to the station to finish my paperwork,” Shiro says. He's leaning down and Keith is rising on his toes to meet him in a kiss like it’s an automatic response. It's quick, because anyone could come along and see an officer kissing his detainee, and things wouldn't go well after that.

“Goodnight, officer.” Keith can hear Shiro return the sentiment as he's walking to his car, and after strapping on his harness, he's taking off into the night. Shiro fades into his rear view mirror. But Keith's chest doesn't loosen.

\- - -

He’s back to racing two days later. And thankfully nothing was seriously damaged on the car. Keith, on the other hand, still has a headache. Pidge was understandably upset when he pulled into the garage and there was a huge dent on the back left of his car.

“It wasn't my fault.” Was Keith's pleading response, looking guilty in the face of Pidge’s wrath. The look on their face makes Keith want to crawl in a hole and then they’re sighing. “I’ll pull some strings with the guys down on Main. I told you to be careful,” they say grumpily, coming up to Keith and hugging him tightly around the waist for a brief moment. They can feel how stiff Keith is – he doesn’t particularly like close contact – and the smirk on Pidge’s face when they pull away tells Keith that they did it to see him uncomfortable. Keith pouts.

Back in the present, Pidge is leaning in through the driver’s side window, talking over the idle of the engine. “Don’t push it over 120, Keith. You’ll blow a gasket.”

“I know. You have the computer set up to record the stats?”

“Of course. Break a leg out there,” Pidge says, pecking Keith on the cheek.

“I’d rather not.” Pidge rolls their eyes, trotting off to the sidelines where they promptly pick up their netbook, tapping the keys. From Keith’s view, their glasses have gone completely blue-white. Keith pulls on his helmet, checking the safety harness once more before he’s pulling up to the starting line. Keith glances over at his opponent – a young 16-year-old with a Frankenstein-looking ’01 Accord. From the sound of the muffler alone, Keith knows the kid doesn’t know what he’s doing – it’ll be an easy race.

There’s a young woman walking out in front of the cars, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She points to Keith’s ’91 LX Hatchback, and he’s revving the engine. She does the same to the other kid, his engine also revving. Her hands go up and suddenly drop, and then they’re off. Keith’s opponent is pulling ahead and Keith is smirking, shifting gears because he can hear the other engine straining. A glance at the speedometer tells Keith he’s hitting 85, so the kid must be to almost 90. And then it suddenly happens, and Keith almost laughs – his opponent’s car shudders and stalls as the engine finally decides to give out, the car fishtailing across the makeshift track and Keith is blowing past him and through to the finish line. In his rear view, the kid is out of his car and it looks like he’s cussing up a storm back there. Keith slows to a stop, unbuckling his harness and stepping out from his car. His heart is in his eardrums, blood buzzing, and Keith can’t stop smiling as he pulls off his helmet. Pidge is jumping off the back of a quad someone in the crowd had ridden in to watch the race and running over to Keith.

“You won!” Pidge says with a grin, and Keith is actually hugging them back in his current good mood. He still thinks it’s funny how Pidge just barely reaches his shoulders.

“I knew I would. You get the data?”

Pidge reaches back to pat their backpack. “All here.”

“Nice. Want pizza tonight?” Keith asks, taking the money the host is handing to him. He counts it quickly, making sure all fifteen-hundred dollars is there. And it is. Pidge is grinning as Keith pockets the money.

“Totally.” They’re running to the other side of the car, pulling the door open and climbing into the passenger side. Keith smiles, getting into the driver seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to please note:
> 
> \- This is street racing, not drag racing. But Keith may participate in some official drag races in the future
> 
> \- I'm planning to make a series thing around this AU! There will be other pairings as well, and all of the characters will eventually make an appearance :) But this is just the tip of the iceberg - people and ships will be added to the tags accordingly
> 
> \- I grew up with my stepdad working mostly on Mustangs and other Ford vehicles, and racing a lot at our local drag strip, so I'm pretty fond of fast cars (especially muscle cars) and racing in general :B 
> 
> \- Keith and Pidge are planned to be roommates - I just like Pidge being affectionate
> 
> \- Also, I'm still deciding whether or not to keep this in one story or just put everything into a series tag ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	2. act a fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wanna chip in a few dollars to get flowers for his funeral?” Keith stops and shoots Pidge with a look that shows he’s seriously considering it. “Remind me to dig under my bed for loose change later."
> 
> Or, the one where Lance fucks up pretty bad.

_It’s dark by the time Keith finally gets off his shift and he’s cursing about having to drive home so late. He’s cursing even more when suddenly he sees blue and red lights in the rearview mirror as he’s making his way down the nearly abandoned back road he takes to avoid assholes on the freeway._

_“Officer, I really am sorry about going so fast I’m just trying to get home. I’ve had a long ni—“_

_“Sir, step out of the vehicle please.” Keith refrains from scoffing as he unbuckles and gets out of the Tacoma._

_The officer is grabbing Keith’s shoulder, turning him towards the small truck. Keith knows the drill. His hands are up and clasped together on the back of his head as the officer pats him down to check for weapons. “Look, I promise I won’t do it again,” Keith says over his shoulder when the officer’s hands are off him. He’s setting his own hands back down to his sides and suddenly sucks in a gasp when his arm is twisted behind his back, forced up against the side of the truck._

_“I’m sure you won’t,” the officer says into Keith’s ear and he’s shivering because he knows that voice._

_“Shiro?” Keith gasps, the grip on his arm loosening so he can turn and face the officer. Sure enough, Shiro is standing before him with a smirk on his face. “Keith.”_

_Keith is suddenly being crowded against the truck again, this time with Shiro’s weight and lips bearing down on him. The night air is already warm enough and the heat between them only adds to it. Keith is being hoisted up by his thighs, legs locking around Shiro’s waist. Shiro’s hands are in his hair and tugging down, making Keith moan out._

_“Shiro…”_

 

 

 

Keith jolts awake to a sudden, shrill alarm, chest heaving, and his arm flies over to his alarm clock to smack at it until it shuts up. “Son of a…”

“Keith! You’d better be awake!” Pidge’s voice rings from down the hall. He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face as the endorphins slowly drain from his system. He’ll definitely need a cold shower, though—

“Keith!” Pidge shrieks, flinging the bedroom door open. Keith's immediate response is to sit up and then scramble to pull the comforter to his chest, hoping his lower half had been hidden quick enough. “Pidge! What the fuck—get out! I’m awake!”

“Well hurry up and get ready or I’m going to be late.”

“Why can’t you just take your car?”

“Because we’re trying to save money for your stupid hobbies.”

“They’re yours too!” Pidge rolls their eyes. “You have ten minutes,” they say, pulling the door shut. Keith groans again, falling back into his bed. He ends up showering, brushing, and dressing in just under eight minutes – much to the satisfaction of Pidge.

“Am I picking you up tonight?”

“No, Lance is going to give me a ride home,” Pidge says as they clamber into the passenger seat of the Tacoma. They give a longing glance to their green Mini Cooper sitting next to the truck in the driveway. They certainly don’t miss Keith’s raised brow. “New boyfriend?”

Pidge snorts as Keith buckles and starts the engine, thinking that he knows that names from somewhere... “Please. He’s just a classmate from my econ class. Hunk introduced us. They’re practically gay for each other and everyone knows it.” Keith hums, backing out and putting the Tacoma into drive. “And,” Pidge says, their tone obviously hinting for Keith’s attention. “He races.”

Keith’s attention is caught, forgetting about the familiar itching in his brain, and gives a side glance at Pidge. “Is he any good?”

“He doesn’t have much street cred, kind of a goofball – okay, a lot of a goofball – but he knows his stuff. Supposedly he’s trying to pin something down for tomorrow night, but he won’t say what.” Pidge is typing away on their computer, and Keith thinks it’s probably an essay that’s due next week. It reminds Keith that he also has an assignment due in the next few days for one of his online classes.

“Huh,” is all Keith says. Pidge looks at him, asking, “You free tomorrow night?”

Keith smiles, reaching over to ruffle Pidge’s hair. “I am now.”

 

 

Later that night, Pidge comes home in a fit of hysterics, screaming their frustrations to Keith – who had been home for barely five minutes. It was mostly about how much of an idiot Lance was and how lucky he was to have such a good person as Hunk with him because Hunk was definitely going to be the one to have to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of Lance’s stupidity – again. To Keith’s amusement, Pidge wolfs down the food he places in their hands, the short tech genius continuing to talk while intermittently taking large bites from the burrito. They keep emoting but with much less heat, which Keith is thankful for because Pidge very well might’ve given themselves an aneurysm. The now empty plate sits discarded on the table next to Pidge as Keith takes to sitting in an actual chair. Pidge’s feet kick slowly back and forth as they explain the situation that would go down the next night and the literal shitstorm Lance had gotten himself into. And again, there’s that familiarity behind the quickly rising annoyance.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right?”

“I know! I told him it was a bad idea–“

“A stupid idea.”

“But he wouldn’t listen,” Pidge says, watching Keith spring up suddenly and start pacing. He’s agitated beyond belief.

“When the fuck did they even come into town?” Pidge knows it’s not a question that’s aimed at anyone in particular, but they shrug anyway. “Wanna chip in a few dollars to get flowers for his funeral?” Keith stops and shoots Pidge with a look that shows he’s seriously considering it. “Remind me to dig under my bed for loose change later,” he says before promptly returning to his pacing.

“We’re going to that race tomorrow.”

“Well, uh-doi. You already committed to it, anyway,” Pidge snarks. They reach over to grab their netbook, typing away quickly on it. Keith glances at them and sees the flicker of a Google Map in the reflection of their glasses. “The race is set to go down at 9 tomorrow.” Pidge rubs their face, hands pushing up their glasses to rub at their eyes.

“Then we’ll be there. You should call it a night, Pidge.”

Pidge pouts in response and lazily flicks their wrist to wave off Keith’s suggestion. Though after a moment of internal reflection, they finally sigh and come to the conclusion that maybe that’s not such a bad idea. “I’m gonna call Hunk really quick. He’s kind of freaking out about this…”

Keith nods, taking to the couch to finish typing up a paper for class while he half-listens to Pidge calming their friend over the phone. He ends up falling asleep on the couch.

\- - -

At this point, Keith is pretty sure that his and Pidge’s other roommate would’ve killed them long ago if he knew how many tickets they –  he – had gotten on the Tacoma. It was ridiculous, really, how many cops were crawling around Monmouth just looking to hand out parking tickets like they were candy and it was Halloween. And yet here he is, frustrated and bone tired with a cream colored parking ticket in his hand. Keith’s groan hardly revealed the depth of his frustration.

Keith pulls himself into the ’96 Tacoma and starts the engine, setting the parking ticket and his jacket onto the passenger seat. He can already hear the shrill note Pidge’s voice takes when they’re upset. Not that Keith blames them of course. If Travis hadn’t been overseas for another two years and had to come back to find all of these tickets written because his vehicle was in violation of the law… Well, Keith wouldn’t have had a very good explanation for most of them. So Keith pushes the thought of the ticket to the back of his mind and puts the small pickup into gear, setting his mind on the drive home.

As expected, Pidge wants to launch him into the sun when they learn of yet another ticket. Which is fair – he kind of wants to be the one to push the button that launches that rocket into the big ball of fire in the sky. Pidge eventually relents though, huffing a, “We’ll take care of it later. We have to go, now,” as they cram their netbook and a few other items into their backpack. Keith is pulling on his gloves when Pidge asks, “Door locked?”

Keith jiggles the front door handle and checks the deadbolt. “Yeah,” he says, flipping on the front porch light. “What about the back?”

“Already locked!” Pidge hollers from the garage. They hit a button on the wall and climb into the passenger seat of the Mustang, the groan of the metal garage door loud and annoying as usual. Keith is tugging on his jacket as he emerges from the doorway and ducks into the driver seat.

The roar of the engine when it first turns over always gives Keith goosebumps. Pidge can see the spark in Keith’s eyes from where they are and they say, “Keith. No racing tonight – we can’t afford it.”

“Don’t worry, I know,” Keith responds, smiling over at Pidge. He backs out of the garage and pushes the door opener clipped to his sun visor, the garage door going back down with a thunderous groan. And with that, they’re off.

 

 

It’s a smallish plot of empty land southwest of the Monmouth city limits (read: in the middle of fucking nowhere) that Keith and Pidge find the gathering of people – and loud bass that can be heard nearly a mile out. Keith rolls his eyes at the veritable circus, already feeling nauseated by the sheer number of people. However, he can’t help but commend those who set up tonight’s race in the location it’s in. Not only will it be harder to pin down, but Keith imagines law enforcement will be squabbling over who gets to do what if they do happen to stumble across it.

Parking close to the outskirts, Keith follows Pidge through the crowd and is pleasantly surprised by how civil the crowd is despite the obvious smell of pot and alcohol combined with loud music. But that surprise dissipates when he spots a ride that instantly makes him cringe – it’s an electric blue Civic DX that’s so low to the ground Keith wonders if it leaves a shower of sparks in its wake. If he had to guess, he’d put it at 1996. Pidge has slipped away and Keith notices someone under the hood, assumes they’re the driver and decides to wander over and attempt conversation. Maybe point out that the car needs a paint job; a complete do over.

As it turns out, Keith almost makes a fool of himself. While his initial comment on the car’s obnoxious color certainly doesn’t fall on deaf ears, the mechanic actually joins him in a laugh over it to Keith’s relief. The mechanic introduces himself as Hunk, and after wiping his hand on a grease-stained rag holds his hand out. “I just help work on this piece of junk with Lance when I can.”

Keith takes the offered hand and gives it a firm shake in return. “I’m Keith; Pidge’s roommate.” Hunk’s eyes spark in recognition.

“So you’re the mysterious Keith guy. We thought Pidge was making you up. Are you two, uh… If you don’t mind me asking…” Keith puts his hands up.

“It’s not like that. Pidge just kind of, does their own thing. They don’t talk about that stuff very much and I don’t pry.” Hunk nods in understanding. Keith pushes around some dirt absently with the toe of his boot and turns his attention back to Hunk. General inquiries aside, they talk casually and Keith notices Hunk’s easy-going personality – welcomes it, in fact. It’s a nice change from the usual overly-inflated ego he’s come to expect from a lot of the racers. He’s about to respond to a comment Hunk made when someone decides to shoulder their way between them and cut Keith off completely.

“Man, what’s your problem?” Keith snaps, interrupting the loud mouth babbling to the mechanic. He takes in the lightly muscled lankiness beneath the hoodie, dark hair, and tanned skin, and it clicks. And then clicks a second time because he’s seen this guy one too many times before. “Wait, _you’re_ Lance? You’re the asshole that keeps wrecking my shelves!” Keith’s tone hints towards exasperation and annoyance.

Lance grins in response and strikes a pose. “You got it. Come out here to watch me win?”

“I came out here to watch you get your ass handed to you, actually.” A smirk graces his face at the expression that passes over Lance’s. “We’ll see who's handing out ass whoopings. You wanna go, mullet head?”

“ _Please_. I could race circles around you.”

“Come find me after this race and we’ll settle this. Of course, it might be hard to see through my dust.”

Keith’s first thought is, “I want to _punch_ this punk”, but that is quickly overwritten by a pang of worry when he realizes that Lance is probably too dumb to have grasped the severity of going up against his opponent. “You have _no idea_ what you’re getting into.”

“You’re just jealous, mullet,” Lance says, rolling his eyes. He turns his back to Keith and says to Hunk, “Come on, the race will be starting soon.” Hunk gives an apologetic glance to Keith before following Lance.

“Idiot!” Keith hisses and makes to step forward but is held back by the silent warning of a grip on his arm. He looks down to see Pidge wearing an annoyed expression. “He’s too stubborn for his own good, Keith. Just leave him be.” Keith sees worry underneath the annoyance and briefly wonders as Pidge leads him to the makeshift dirt strip how much worry is for Hunk, who’ll be there at ground zero when things fall apart for Lance, and how much is for Lance, who obviously has no idea _who_ he is up against. Lance doesn’t stand a thread of a chance.

No one has ever beaten a top Galran commander.

Hunk stands with Pidge and Keith, wringing his grease rag nervously as the cars pull up to the starting line – a line drawn in the dirt with a can of spray paint. Keith pats Hunk reassuringly on the shoulder and does his best to hide his own nervous guilt.

A guy of average build and age stands in front of the starting line, repeating to the crowd that the race is a pink slip race – and the winner will be going home with not only the money but the loser’s car as well. Keith has to force himself not to drop his head into his hands. The usual pre-race warm-up is started, the roar of Lance’s opponent’s engine reverberating through the air and the bones of the crowd. A Civic going up against a Porsche – Keith has to hand it to Lance, though, it’s gutsy and not something he’d likely do without a _lot_ of work on his car first.

“God, Lance is so fucked,” Hunk mutters, and Pidge does a double take at Hunk – who apparently doesn’t cuss very often. Keith is holding his breath as the guy’s arms drop and the racers speed off. They’re all coughing through the dust left behind, and as soon as they can see, Pidge is grabbing at Hunk and Keith. “Come _on_!”

They’re halfway down to the racers when Keith, on impulse, looks slightly to his left towards the track and sees a familiar white fringe that stops him dead in his tracks. He skids slightly in the dirt. A feeling of nostalgia hits him like a ton of bricks, the memory of seeing the same handsome face for the first time at a similar track years ago almost crashes the part of Keith’s brain responsible for cognitive thinking. Looking quickly to Pidge and Hunk, who’ve stopped to look back at him, he motions for them to continue on without him. Shaking off the feeling, he heads towards Shiro, who has turned away, broad back to Keith and looking at something or someone in the distance. Keith strides over and grabs roughly at Shiro’s shoulder, angrily spinning the latter around and making his presence known. Keith knows why Shiro’s here, but he demands an answer anyway. “ _Why_?”

Shiro’s look of surprise melts quickly and he parrots the question back with an equal anger, momentarily taking Keith aback. “Keith, if you get caught out here—“

“I’m not racing!” Keith hisses, dragging Shiro out of the way of an oncoming dirt bike. “And you’re off duty! Caught, my ass… Unless…” Shiro averts his eyes, looking away completely at Keith’s angry growl of his name.

“Keith – I had to. It’s—“

“Your job. Whatever. Just, whatever!” Keith throws his hands up in defeat. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Shiro crosses his arms, looking rather grumpy. Keith knows it was a low blow – Shiro takes pride in his line of work – but he doesn’t have time. “Just… How long do we have?”

Shiro sighs, says, “Twenty minutes. At most.”

“Help us get out of here and I’ll start paying off my tickets.” Shiro barks out a laugh and Keith’s face almost falls. “I’m serious, you asshole.”

“Fine! Fine. Come on,” Shiro says. He grabs Keith’s hand and thinks in the back of his mind that Keith’s stubbornness is going to come back to bite him in the ass. Keith passes off the heat coming to his face as a simple product of exertion.

The scene they come upon is not entirely unexpected – Lance looks both defeated and pissed, Hunk holding one of his arms in a tight grip while the commander, Sendak, taunts him, shoving Lance’s pink slip into his jacket. Pidge has a grip on Lance’s hoodie.

“Run along now, little boy. Time to go home seeing as you don’t have a car anymore,” Sendak sneers with a shit eating grin. Thankfully Shiro is able to catch Lance’s wrist before he has a chance to let loose a punch. Keith tucks away the look of bewilderment Lance has on his face for later enjoyment, but right now he’s more focused on getting out of here, and Lance is still looking at Shiro like he just dropped from the sky. “It’s not worth it,” Shiro says quietly to Lance, dead glaring at Sendak, who holds the glare steadily as if he’s done this a thousand times before. Keith doesn’t miss the venom in Shiro’s eyes and it dawns on him that these two have a history. He suddenly wants to know that history.

Shiro releases Lance’s wrist, letting Hunk and Pidge drag him away while he and Keith walk in front. Keith is talking quick and quiet. “Where’s your car?”

“Don’t have it.” Shiro rolls his eyes at Keith’s look and continues with, “I rode in with an undercover. He’s probably bounced by now.”

“You’re paying me back gas money, then.” Keith shoves his hands deep in his pocket and tries not to look too jumpy as they walk back to where he parked, ignoring Shiro’s snort at the comment. Speaking of gas money, the realization that Lance doesn’t have a car anymore dawns on Keith and he whips around to Hunk. “How did you get here?”

Hunk’s face is blank for half a second, and to Keith’s relief, he motions over to a rather out of place van parked not that much farther away. “I don’t have the stomach for fast cars,” he explains with a shy look that turns to a confused one when the noise of sudden commotion reaches his ears.

“Shit – we’re out of time,” Shiro says, and Keith grabs Pidge’s shoulder and shoves them towards Hunk and Lance. “Get out of here – go!”

No one needs to be told twice – Shiro shoves himself into the passenger seat of the Mustang and Keith rolls over the hood to slide into the driver seat. The other three are nowhere to be seen in the sudden rise of dust from cars racing to get away, and Keith has high hopes that they’ll get out okay – a van is especially inconspicuous, and Pidge has already mapped out alternate escape routes in case they need it. The roar of the Mustang’s engine clears Keith’s head, and he’s shifting and peeling out of the lot before he consciously registers it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No worries, I'm still alive - and failing at life. The good news is is that I've found a few superspecialawesome beta readers. The bad news is I'm still a piece of garbage that has all the procrastination skills with zero sense of time management. *double pistols*
> 
> Also Keith may or may not work at a shitty retail job ;;;;;;))


	3. night rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shut up and hang on,” Keith bites back, stomping his brake and jerking the steering wheel. Shiro nearly bites his tongue, teeth clenched as he car slides over the dirt and onto the next road. 
> 
> Or, the one where Keith and Shiro do some "catching up."
> 
> (P.S. rating change here!)

“Get fucking buckled and find something to hold onto.” To his pleasure, Shiro does as he’s told, watching the rearview and side mirrors as he holds onto the grab handle with a death grip. Keith’s eyes flick for a half second to the dull glint of light off of the metal of Shiro’s right hand, then to the sudden flash of red and blue in his mirrors. “Keith.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Keith says, shifting. He tries to remember the other roads Pidge had told him about, and his eyes widen when he recalls the folded sheet of paper Pidge had stuffed into his hand earlier. “Under your feet is a map – you can read one, right?” Keith smirks at the dirty look Shiro shoots him, shifting again. He needs to get far enough ahead to disappear. “What’s the closest highlighted road?”

“Uh, three… miles on your left,” Shiro says as he studies the map in his hands -- a feat, considering the commotion and how dark it is. He hears Keith mutter, “I can make that,” and wants to ask how, but Keith interrupts by saying, “I told you to hold onto something, and I mean it, Shiro.” Keith’s hitting 100, and he’s slowly inching farther away from the officers in pursuit, thumb grazing lightly over one of the red buttons on his steering wheel in contemplation. He sees the road he needs to take and the spread out bushes lining it, making a split-second decision and killing his lights. “Keith!”

“Shut up and hang on,” Keith bites back, stomping his brake and jerking the steering wheel. Shiro nearly bites his tongue, teeth clenched as he car slides over the dirt and onto the next road. Keith picks up speed again and hits one of the red buttons, feeling the jolt and sudden speed of nitrous flooding his engine. He can practically _feel_ Shiro go rigid in his seat. Thankfully there’s the sudden feel of asphalt – shitty, but it’s there – and he goes a little way farther, giving the nitrous a chance to mostly burn out before suddenly veering off the road and into the brush some ways and cutting the engine. Keith hopes they made it far enough from the road, listening to the sirens flit past and Shiro’s ragged breathing. His own heart is thundering in his chest, high on adrenaline, and his right hand makes a grab for Shiro’s left. The words Shiro was going to say die on his lips and they’re silent.

Keith waits exactly thirty seconds after the last siren has faded into the distance before he starts his car again, and it’s not until they’re well on the main road that he chances to turn his lights back on. The both of them are quiet, the decline in adrenaline causing Keith’s mind to go blank while Shiro is hyper aware of their still clasped hands resting on the center console. Eventually, he relaxes, focusing on the planes of Keith’s face lit by the dashboard lights.

“Do you have to stare?” Keith asks quietly, startling Shiro out of his stupor. He won’t admit to nearly squirming under Shiro’s heavy gaze, which has now turned to the road in front of them. “Nice driving,” Shiro says instead.

“I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“Shut up, I wasn’t trying to stroke your ego,” Shiro grumps, squeezing Keith’s hand lightly and drinking in the sound of Keith’s quiet laugh. He tells himself it’s okay here, to be like this with Keith. There’s no one else and he’s off duty anyway. They drive in a comfortable silence for another thirty miles and into town. Shiro gives him the cross streets of where he lives, and Keith navigates with ease, pulling up to his building number and noticing with a slight annoyance that the apartments Shiro lives in are _really_ nice. Sometimes Shiro’s perfectness is too much for him.

They sit in silence for a while, Keith having turned off the engine to conserve gasoline because he knows Shiro isn’t going to just up and leave – they’ve done this one too many times for him to think it so simple. Shiro makes a move first, though it’s not one that Keith was expecting; he digs his wallet out of his back pocket and hands Keith a twenty.

“Uh, for gas,” Shiro offers. Keith takes the bill quietly, fingers brushing over the skin of Shiro’s and it’s like touching a live wire. He swallows.

“Thanks for that,” Keith says quietly, looking to Shiro. “ _That_ being warning us…”

Shiro smiles. “Thanks for not leaving me out there.” Keith punches him lightly in the arm, grinning.

“I couldn’t just leave you out there, anyway. Who would let slide all those parking tickets?”

“You mean the ones you promised to pay?”

“Did I say parking tickets? I meant movie tickets,” Keith says, making a flippant motion with his hand. Shiro rolls his eyes, catching Keith’s hand and leans forward over the center console to kiss his gloved knuckles, an eyebrow cocked. “What, like movie tickets for _us_? Are you asking me out, Keith?”

Keith scoffs, face heating intensely and even with just the shitty street light flooding in from half a block away, Shiro can still see the blush. Keith’s eyes zero in on Shiro, a pout on his lips. “Are you gonna actually come out with me this time, or are you gonna give me some excuse again?” He’s aware he’s leaning in – it’s a challenge. He’s also aware of how heavy the change in subject is becoming and how quick this moment could sour. But for the life of him, Keith just can’t resist the urge to instigate.

Shiro visibly twitches and he tugs Keith forward until their lips crush together. Keith decides he likes this route better than one where a fight ensues, and kisses back with vigor. He can _feel_ Shiro relaxing. Keith knows he can easily manipulate Shiro’s emotions, and Shiro, in turn, has called him on it during various attempts to _not_ be swayed – which have so far failed spectacularly. Case in point: that very moment. Shiro and Keith grip each other tightly over the center console, Shiro’s human hand feeling up Keith’s stomach and chest underneath his tee and Keith can’t control himself to save his own life – he crawls over the console and into Shiro’s lap. Bucket seats are hardly the ideal place for heated makeouts, but neither of them complain Shiro’s hands drag paths up and down Keith’s thighs, they sneak up under his shirt and bunch the fabric to get access to the expanse of Keith’s back. Keith bites lightly at Shiro’s lips, jaw, neck… He doesn’t bite hard enough to leave marks though. He knows how Shiro likes to keep up his professional appearance. And no one is going to take a cop seriously when they’re covered in dark, purpling hickeys. The image of Shiro covered in them makes Keith shudder. But just because Keith can’t markup Shiro, doesn’t mean it can’t be the other way around – and Shiro takes _great_ satisfaction in sucking marks into the side and base of Keith’s neck.

“Fuck,” Keith breathes out, nails scratching through the short hairs along the back of Shiro’s head. Shiro responds by dragging his nails down Keith’s side, causing him to arch forward. “God, _Shiro_!”

Shiro smirks and pulls Keith back down to lock their lips together again. It’s nothing but heat and passion for a good while, but neither of them goes further than scratches and hickeys, and soon the heat melts into a comfortable warmth and their kisses slow. Keith presses his forehead to Shiro’s, breath shaky as he holds him close. Shiro’s arms are wound tightly around Keith’s waist, his eyes closed and his own breath slowly evening. “It’s late… And you have to work in the morning,” Keith whispers. He feels Shiro’s smile hovering over his lips.

“So do you.”

“Maybe we should go to bed.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Shiro replies as Keith leans back to look down at him. He has a disappointed look on his face that makes Shiro want to wrap him in his arms all over again because he knows the thoughts running through Keith’s head at the moment – and the very thing they both want to do is beyond a clear line that they _really_ shouldn’t cross. Keith reaches over and pops open the door, stepping out into the cool night air. Shiro climbs out after him, stretching his limbs and yawning.

Keith turns to Shiro, looking up at him. Shiro leans down and kisses him. “Go to bed, Shiro,” Keith says when they part, walking to the other side of the car. He’s already closed off and Shiro can hear it in his voice – it happens every time, and he knows not to push it anymore. Shiro shuts the door and starts up the sidewalk to his apartment, glancing over his shoulder at Keith, who is dropping down into the driver’s seat. Right, then… Shiro turns back and continues his short walk while he listens to the Mustang’s engine start up and pull out of the parking lot.

Later, as he’s lying in bed, Shiro imagines how the rest of their night could’ve gone. They could’ve finished in the car, but remembers hearing Keith tell him how he had a thing about needing a bed, so in all likelihood, they would’ve come up to Shiro’s apartment. He fantasizes about spreading Keith out on his bed and picking him apart slowly, learning every curve and dip of Keith’s body. And just when Keith reached his limits, Shiro would relent and give in. He'd give Keith everything he had.

Shiro can almost taste the salt of Keith’s skin as he’s stroking himself. He finally gives in with a sigh as his orgasm shudders through him. While he cleans himself up, Shiro wonders if it were to ever be possible for them to have a normal, healthy relationship. Shiro’s lips twitch into a smirk as he’s falling asleep. Healthy? They could probably do that. He would welcome that, actually.

But normal? Normal went out the window the first day Shiro slapped his handcuffs onto Keith’s wrists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ) So anyway, here's Wonderwall. 
> 
> Also, huge thank you to all of you for commenting and giving kudos even after that huuuuuge span of time! I'd lost motivation for writing this for a while, but you guys really helped inspire me to keep on trucking with this :)


End file.
